Unforeseen Outcomes
by WeatherWatch
Summary: A red dress is too bright for a prison. 3/3


**Disclaimer: JKR is the rightful, brilliant owner of Harry Potter; I have merely been exercising the characters. **

"**Unforeseen Outcomes"**

_Azkaban Prison, 2001_

Hermione stood in the waiting area of the wizarding prison, grateful for her department's part in developing the magic strippers that were used in lieu of Dementors these days. It made for much more pleasant business. Of course, the prisoners were still inclined to madness – confinement in a tiny, white walled cell with neither windows nor door did encourage delusions and mental instability. She could almost bring herself to say that they deserved it, when she remembered Fred and Remus and Tonks and Colin, as well as all the others who had died at the Battle of Hogwarts. She didn't like inhumanity, but man had shown time and again that it was man's inhumanity to man that was the biggest problem – winner and loser aside, the suffering didn't change. At least they weren't having their life force sucked out of them, she reasoned in her mind.

The young witch wasn't entirely sure of the purpose of her visit –

No, that was a lie. She knew exactly why she was here. She had put off the meeting for as long as she could, but she was here to see Antonin Dolohov. The enigma –the man – the Death Eater – who had invaded her mind so often, and so completely, ever since that night in the Department of Mysteries during her fifth year.

The last time she had seen him was during the battle. He was duelling Professor Flitwick, but the diminutive teacher was a one-time duelling champion and the Death Eater had been beaten, carted away with the remaining Dark supporters and sentenced to life imprisonment.

Hermione, a war heroine, had continued on with her life. She worked as an Unspeakable, she held onto the remaining slivers of childhood that remained in her world; she spent time with her friends, her family, and the Weasleys, and she worked hard to earn recognition for being more than the Brains of the Golden Trio. Outwardly, she was happy.

She had kissed Ron at the Battle, in the heat of the moment, but nothing had changed. They were as close as ever; _nothing had changed_.

A sensation of incompleteness had arisen in her, turning up whenever she was alone, or in the quiet space of her mind that seemed these days to always take the form of a white walled room. She thought about Dolohov a lot during these moments. Hermione Granger should not be thinking about a murdering Death Eater. But Hermione Granger wasn't thinking about the man who killed Remus Lupin. She was thinking about the angular, clear eyed man who had brought her feelings she hadn't ever experienced before.

A man who had made her promises despite being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and despite their being the most wrongly suited people possible.

So she had come to Azkaban. A barely formed plan, an overwhelming sense of confusion, and a mountain of desire her only companions as she waited for the guard to come and get her.

"Miss Granger, you may enter now." A fairly young Auror with a scarred neck told her, his grizzly demeanour making him seem years older than he undoubtedly was. He reminded her a little of Alastor Moody, and the memory of Mad-Eye made her heart break just a little. "The prisoner can't use magic, and will not be able to touch you, and your wand will only be able to perform non-harmful spells once inside the room."

"Alright."

"Do you wish for an accompanying guard during your visit?" He asked the routine question as they made their way through the labyrinth of halls.

"No, thank you." Hermione replied. "I think I would rather talk with him alone. I'll alert you with my wand should I require assistance."

"Of course." He gave a funny salute as he opened the heavy steel door and let her in. "He's in Interview Room 351, fourth door on the left."

With that, Hermione was alone once again, her feet carrying her along the corridor and into the white room. This one had a window. Dolohov stared out of it, looking at the grey clouds with a fondness she hadn't seen since, well, the evening on Tottenham Court Road when he had stared at her in much the same way.

The door clicked shut, but not locked, and she stood against the wall, watching him. The metal ring around his ankle had stripped him of his magic, but it also restricted his movements. He couldn't get out of the room – there was no worry about that. And as for his size advantage, the guard _had_ said that he couldn't touch her.

Antonin Dolohov looked just as handsome as she remembered, though he now sported a scraggly beard which covered his angular jaw. His ice blue eyes focussed on her as he turned around, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat, feeling the familiar tingle run through her body.

"Hermione Granger." He whispered, smiling predatorily. "We meet for the third and final time."

"You seem sure." She managed to force the words out, fighting the urge to cross her arms in front of her chest. His eyes and scrutiny made her feel naked, though she knew that the dress covered her sufficiently. It was red – too bright for a prison – but she had worn it anyway; she had needed to wear the bold, fiery colour.

"I am certain."

Dolohov hadn't moved from the window, but his eyes took in every action; the rise of her chest, the flicker of her brown irises, the nervous movements of her fingers.

"Why are you here?" He asked her without any condescension or maliciousness present in his tone. Just curiosity – though Hermione thought privately that he knew her purpose better than she herself did.

"I… when –" She faltered and bit her lip, trying to put it into words. "I feel empty. Ever since the end of the war I've felt alone, and whenever I'm alone, or in the quiet, my mind takes me to a white room and I remember you, I need you, and it's driving me insane. I thought... I thought, maybe, that if I came to see you it might go away."

She was looking at the ground, her cheeks slightly pink, and Dolohov took two steps towards her. He had been visited before by Ministry officials and Unspeakables, and the Aurors who patrolled the halls, but each time he had tried to move towards them, a tugging sensation pulled him back. It was faint at first, but pulled harder the more you fought it. He had felt nothing when he stepped towards Hermione. Emboldened, he took two more.

Still nothing.

"I made you an offer once." Dolohov reminded her as he crossed the room with silent steps, thinking of the Department of Mysteries and the two spells he had performed on her. The second one had caused the injury, but the first was more subtle. An invasion spell, cleverly performed, that had planted him in her mind until she could be satisfied. It wasn't to have lasted as long as it did, but interferences had happened and then he had been incarcerated. "It still stands."

If her breaths hadn't been shorter than normal before, they definitely were now. He was standing very close to her, not touching, but near enough that heart fluttered traitorously. Dolohov raised his hand slowly, reaching out to cup her cheek, and paused centimetres away from her skin, curling his fingers into a loose fist. The pull hadn't activated, but he waited for her to answer.

"I accept." She said breathily, closing her eyes.

Dolohov's palm came to rest on her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly, as he brought his lips to hers with a speed that made her heart beat fast with anticipation. But gentle wasn't what the ex-Death Eater had in mind; her back collided heavily with the wall behind and the floodgates opened at their touch as Hermione parted her lips to taste more of him; her body reacting immediately to his presence, their tongues joining in the battle for dominance. The hand on her cheek slid downwards, caressing her throat, and the soft skin exposed there (she was hyper aware of its movements, the slight pressure against her oesophagus a physical reminder of how dangerous he could be).

Hermione was pressed tightly against the wall, trapped by his taller frame – it might have been painful, but she was so lost in the older man that she didn't notice how anything felt besides him. It was immaterial when his hands, his mouth, were on her.

Dolohov's other hand held her waist, but trailed down her thigh to raise the hem of her red dress as the other made a pathway to her breast. She moaned into his mouth as he brushed over the tender nub, arching her back in pleasure. The dress came off over her head, leaving her only in red lingerie.

Hermione wasn't sure when Dolohov had lost his shirt, but lost it he had, and so she was accosted by a strong chest as he brought his hands up to cup her bum, forcing both legs off the floor and causing her to wrap them around his waist. His mouth was on her neck, sucking and dragging his teeth over her sensitive flesh. Just as he had in the Department of Mysteries so many years ago, Dolohov held her up against the wall promising pleasure – this time however, she was more than willing.

Dolohov carried her over to the table, seating her on the edge, and began kissing down her chest but the brunette witch pulled him up and placed her feet on either side of his waist, pushing down the pants to reveal his throbbing erection.

"It's been five fucking years, Antonin." Hermione stated, swearing uncharacteristically. "I need you in me, now."

Her lacy red knickers barely lasted three seconds after that as Dolohov tore them off without any regard for their preservation.

**OoO**

Hermione lay back on the table, breathing heavily, stroking the man's head absently as it rested on her chest, Dolohov having not moved from where he had fallen against her with his climax.

They were still connected in that most intimate of ways, but Dolohov seemed content to stay that way for the moment as he pressed light kisses to the valley of her breasts, still, surprisingly, contained by the red bra.

When both had regained a semblance of regular breathing, the prisoner pulled out and began to dress, tossing the red dress to Hermione. Her knickers were beyond saving, so after a split second of panic she shoved them in her bra (having had to leave her bag in the waiting area), threw on the dress, cast a quick Scourgify, neatened her hair, and looked to see Dolohov staring at her.

"Third time lucky." His velvety vocals informed her while his eyes seemed to see straight through the fabric, making her feel bare before him once more.

"The first and last time." Hermione confirmed, understanding his air of certainty from earlier - she no longer felt the hovering weight that had been present in her mind since the Department of Mysteries.

"Thank you." Dolohov said quietly, as she walked towards the door.

Hermione smiled.

"You'll have a good life." He added. "Free of me, free of war."

She moved to open the door, but paused as a thought came to her. "The guard said, before I came in, that you wouldn't be able to touch me. How…?" Hermione trailed off, gazing questioningly at Dolohov, who now perched against the table, long legs crossed at the ankles before him. He gave a slow smile.

"If both are willing, and if the incarcerated has no ill will, then contact is permissible." He commented. "Clearly, they haven't thought about such an option."

Hermione smiled easily at his remark then looked away.

"Regret is such a waste of an emotion." Dolohov commented, his voice casual, as if he were speaking about the weather. He had picked up on the tiny flame of doubt that Hermione had felt, but as soon as he said it, she beat the emotion down. He was right. Their relationship – she named it that tentatively – was at an end, with the fulfilment of a promise made so many years ago, and she would go on to live her life in a renewed Wizarding World, and he, he would spend the rest of his natural life in Azkaban, paying for the crimes in which he had willingly participated.

Dolohov continued staring at her for a few long moments, drinking her in, before he said with an air of finality, "Goodbye, Hermione Granger."

She didn't answer straight away, but answer she did.

"Goodbye, Antonin Dolohov."

She didn't falter as she opened the door and walked out, disappearing down the hallway, the resounding clicks of her heels echoing as Dolohov stared at the space she had just vacated, a contented smile settling on his sharp face.

When Hermione lay alone in the dark that night, she didn't visit the white walled room in her mind, but slept dreamlessly, the corners of her mouth tilted upwards to hint at a smile. It was an unforeseen outcome the visit had given her, but it was an outcome that pleased her nonetheless.

**End. **

**And, Fin.**

**Thanks my darlings for all the reviews you've given me – they certainly do make a day brighter. I hope you enjoy this last instalment of the series. Please, Read and Review like a Responsible Reviewer!**


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